


Red Circus

by otapocalypse



Category: Original Work
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Blood, Breaking and Entering, Exes, Hideous Accents, Magic, Monsters, Needles, Nonbinary Character, Original Character(s), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The past comes knocking, Years in the making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8030596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otapocalypse/pseuds/otapocalypse
Summary: Excerpts from my own work





	1. Excerpt 1

**Author's Note:**

> Needles and Blood warning folks
> 
> Sorry about the lack of fan based content, I've been having a shitty week

“On a scale of one to ten, how likely is it that this will get us arrested?” 

Jives grinned down at the one who’d mumbled that sentence, her green eyes bright and her fangs showing. He slowly lowered his head, and his paw went to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t like that look.”

Nevertheless, he followed her closely, the two of them making barely a sound as they slipped through the field. The whisper of their fur brushing over the tall grass was swept up with the wind as they approached the shack in the middle of the meadow.

Starky saw Jives’ eyes dart to the farmer’s house, the rest of her body motionless. He looked too. No lights on. Yet.

“Come on, buddy, time to work your magic,” she smirked, tapping his wrist. He rolled his eyes, shooting her a glare, before creeping forward and opening his vest. Jives got a quick glance of his binder before the vest closed again, and he was holding a bright silver needle delicately between his fingers. 

“Don’t look,” he mumbled futilely, before sticking the needle into his own wrist and drawing bright blue blood, blood that purposely contrasted with his red and white fur. 

“You look like America,” she whispered.

“Shh,” he said, before pressing his bloody wrist against the lock and mumbling a few words. There was a pause, and then a much louder clunk as the lock slid open, and fell to the ground. They both stared down at in in silence before Starky slipped inside, careful not to let the door creak. He was slimmer, however, and Jives had to shove through with a bit more struggle, causing a grating squeal to ring out for just a moment.

“Why is it that you can open locks and shit but you can’t oil the door with your pretty blood?”

“You never asked me to.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, then stopped after surveying the inside.

“Aw, nothin’.” she said, disappointed, before kicking a screwdriver on the floor. It rolled slowly over to where Stark was standing, staring fixedly at a plaque on the wall.

“Starks? You got somethin’?” She padded over to him, careful not to knock anything with her tail.

“Pierce Genson. 3rd place. Bronze standing for Traditional Art,” He read aloud, and his voice quivered on the name. “Why does he keep it out here?”

“Hey, you doing alright buddy?” Jives tapped his wrist again, and he seemed to come back to himself.

“I wanna go.” He said flatly.

“Okay, okay. No problem. Old fart ain’t got nothin’ in here anyway.” Just junk. She took another swing at the screwdriver again on the way out, missing this time. She could see Starky’s paws shaking, and knew the sooner they were gone, the better.

Once outside, he turned back, and seemed to think for a moment. Then, he quietly put the lock back in place and cleaned up the spots of blue with a mumbled word.

He lingered there for a moment, before turning away and looking Jives in the eye.

“Let’s go.”


	2. Excerpt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More needles and blood in this one

“I really, really hope that’s not blood.”

“Well, in that case, I have some bad news…”

Starky started thumping his palm against his leg rhythmically as he walked over, breathing through his mouth so as not to be overwhelmed by the smell. It was everywhere, shining black against the white tile of the floor, but he managed to ignore it and knelt next to Jives.

“It’s mostly his,” she jerked her thumb at a very still figure lying on the floor a few feet away, previously obscured by the countertop in the middle of the room. Stark swallowed a gag and wrapped his paws around Jives’, pulling her to her one good leg.

The plastic contraption on her knee squeaked.

“You wore your brace to a job?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be a job,” she said miserably, and he had to feel sorry for her. But only for a second. 

“I only came here to check out the lab,” she continued, as they limped out. “He came at me, out of nowhere-“

“And so you shot him?”

“I got him with one of the infected needles!” She hissed. “It must have had something on it, he started bleeding out from every hole in his face.”

He cringed again, and Jives shot him a worried look. “Sorry.”

He resisted the urge to bite or beat his hand. “It’s okay.”


End file.
